


could we ever be enough

by Aflyingmonkey



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aflyingmonkey/pseuds/Aflyingmonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has anxiety and Harry feeds him pineapple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could we ever be enough

The night bathes the room in black. Nothing but the writhing of the sheets, too hot on a November night. The wind whips outside, a slight rain that the weatherman hadn’t predicted. But inside the room it’s like a thunderstorm.

Louis can feel his skin itching like something out of a horror movie. And he feels like he’s bathing needles but the pain is so abstract unlike the one in his heart which is so real. His heart, it’s kind of fragile isn’t it, not made of glass or porcelain like the kind in fairy tales but it sort of feels like boiling water, dripping down into his stomach where his insides are melting fiery hot.

His thoughts consume his mind like little termites nitpicking his every insecurity every tiny bad thought every bad thing that’s ever happened. It’s not even two a.m. and Louis has lived four lifetimes and died a horrible death at the end of every one. He’s gasping for air and it’s like his lungs are filled with water. Louis almost drowned once, it was so trivial, but this feels like it. Like drowning, but worse. He can’t breathe and he gasps into the pillows and blankets and the tears cut into his cheeks like knives.

Louis’ skin is so hot and every nerve on his skin is heightened and he knows Harry is awake now. He tries to suck it back in, whatever has suddenly spilled out. But it can’t be wiped away, the pillow is soaked in his tears and Harry knows, he always has. But his chest hurts and now he’s just _embarrassed._

“Louis.”

It’s said softly, like he’s holding him in his arms, but all Louis can feel is his hand. Like a frightened animal Louis shakes. Whole body tremors as if his bones are broken from the earthquake ranging inside of him. He can’t speak. Other times he yells, loud broken “No’s” and maybe the whole city can hear him. Harry’s hands don’t touch then. He usually waits like a glacier, till Louis’ body curls up and collapses. Then Harry is there, much like the sky is blue and wind whistles Harry is there.

“Louis.”

He can’t conjure up an excuse. He didn’t have a bad dream. There was no monster chasing him. The monster is much bigger than anything his imagination could reveal. Louis shakes like the earth.

He doesn’t want him to say his name again. He doesn’t want to speak.

“Haz.”

But he has too, otherwise he might die.

~

Harry can’t fix him.

Harry tries. He sits and waits patiently. He drives him to therapy. He cooks and cleans when Louis has bad days that can turn into bad weeks. He knows and he is okay.

Louis touching Harry is like wrapping himself in armor. With Harry there maybe the world can be a bit stable. Maybe his chest will not collapse, no melting, no fire. Just Harry in his simplest form, sweatpants, hair in a bun and a white shirt he got for a $1.50 at the thrift store down the road. Harry doesn't exist just for Louis, though. Things like friends drift in their lives, like gentle waves bringing with them brightness and a sense of life. Harry prefers Louis' company most of all though with his sharp voice and bedhead. 

On some days they exist separately. Harry at work or shopping. Sometimes with his own friends. Louis at home, writing, or out at the coffee shop where he's a regular. But then they orbit back to each other.

Louis loves Harry much like the sun sets and the moon rises.

The sun rises and the moon sets. Harry loves Louis.

They live ordinary lives. Louis prefers it to be simple sometimes.

On the good days, simple can be boring. So Louis cajoles Harry into going to the movies, going out drinking, dancing. Taking a pottery class. You know something wild like that. The sun is out whether it truly is or not. Louis wakes up Harry by rolling on top of him. A smile as wide as the ocean and Harry's eyes lighting up with the knowledge that today is meant to be fun. 

On bad days that can turn into bad weeks. Louis is woken up gently, with a singular kiss on the forehead. Harry, if he doesn’t have work, will lay into bed with Louis. Hands touching skin is the most precious form of touch. Lips can never compare to hands.

Hands hold him together so he doesn’t break apart.

On the very bad days, Louis shatters anyways.

~

Louis wakes one morning to find himself alone. He rolls out of the bed, the coldness of the wooden floor touching his bare feet. It is an average day, neither good nor bad, Louis likes those days. They exist on a singular plane. They’re not foggy or too bright. They’re just … average. Much like Louis himself, though Harry would argue him there. Harry thinks he’s the funniest and prettiest person in the world.

_“Here ya go.”_

_“Haz…”_

_“Lou…”_

_“Why are you giving me a rose?”_

_“Because I have a crush on you.”_

_“Harry, we’re married.”_

Louis happens to think Harry is the funniest person in the world and by far the prettiest. They were made for each other.

The day goes on. Louis working at his computer for a bit. A few sentences here and there. The manuscript is almost there, but this has to be done soon. He can’t dawdle otherwise his publicist will have his head. His head is pounding though and he’s starving.

Louis decides to make dinner that night. Harry works too hard, he would protest if Louis told him so, but Harry’s bone aches and he needs far too many massages.

Harry's key in the door, six p.m. not a moment later and finds Louis at the counter to his surprise.

“What’s for dinner, love?”

Steady conversation between two humans that live and breathe together. A synchronized dance that’s been practiced and perfected, but feels as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

Louis’ bad thoughts don’t really exist in the moments. The air is pink and light. Harry’s laughter twinkling like stars.

Today is maybe a good day.

~

Harry sometimes breaks.

Not like Louis, never like Louis.

Harry is not indestructible though. He is only human, imperfect and fragile. The rain brought too many thoughts and then suddenly Louis was screaming and Harry fed into it. Screaming and shouting till his throat felt raw. It can be over trivial things, like the dishes or the t.v., but it can also be over nasty thoughts. The ones that Louis feels eat away at his insides. 

The ones Harry has at three a.m. trying to piece Louis back together, as a little bit of him dies.

He is only Harry. Just somebody simple who fell in love with somebody extraordinary. He fucks up and says the wrong thing and then defense kicks in. He doesn't want to be yelled at. It was just a bad day. Not a bad day. But a bad day all the same.

Eventually he sneaks into the bedroom. His touch like a feather upon Louis' hot skin. Louis simply whispers an apology. Harry shakes his head, as he whispers one right back. An exchange like the wind touching the trees. 

Harry thinks Louis must be handled like glass.

He is not glass.

But Harry handles him with care anyway.

~

Louis sometimes feels broken.

Harry needs him to understand that broken can be fixed.

But Harry can not fix him.

He can help with the touches and the hot tea and the gentle kisses. He can make him laugh with his ridiculous kindergartner approved knock knock jokes. He can cook dinner, Louis’ favorites, get him muffins from his favorite shop. He can run and run and tend to Louis like a nurse to an ailing patient’s bedside.

But Love can not fix even the darkest of pitfalls. Only the comfort of knowing someone there. If Louis reached out could he touch Harry?

It’s like touching flowers in the springtime.

~

On the bad days, the ones where the nights are the longest and Louis is drowning, Harry has a routine.

Harry gets up and gets little slices of pineapple. He takes a day and makes fruit platters, a smoothie or two, just bits of fruit everywhere, and juice.

Pineapple though is special.

Its sweetness calms Louis. The way it sits in his mouth. The taste and even the color, a simple yellow. Harry sits opposite him and their day is filled with fruit. Louis can handle those days better because of the apples and strawberries. The array of color and the way Harry touches him, like watercolor paint, down his sides, over his shoulder. Louis’ lungs work in that moment.

It's the simplest of things really that cause Louis to have the most complicated changes. The way he can go from gasping to a settled calmness. Like standing in the middle of the hurricane as the rain pours inside of him, sloshing his insides. The days the fruit helps are the best ones. It's almost as if it's a cure, even though it's a bandaid. Sometimes Harry just lies there with him, as the winds whip harshly in the room, there is Harry. He is solid, and nothing like Louis, the way Louis melts at every little inconvenience. The way Louis can sometimes feel himself be crushed. But Harry is there. 

It isn't always okay

Sometimes Harry can’t be there.

Louis’ hands can’t do much but shake. He sometimes calls Harry.

He picks up every call.

It’s not as good as Hands, but Voice is okay.

~

They exist and they breathe. Maybe it is enough and maybe it is not. But as long as Louis can feel Harry is there. Maybe the world shall not collapse and maybe his bones won’t melt.

Just as the sun sets and moon rises.

The sun rises and the moon sets.

**Author's Note:**

> *~something a bit self-indulgent~*


End file.
